To get good photos of the mares and colts in this pasture, I had to come to the fence. When I came to the fence, so did the horses. I was lucky to get any photos at all. The world already has too many pictures of horses with their faces over a fence.
The first horses to greet me (get in my line of vision) were babies and youngsters. Should I live to be 300 years old, attention from a horse will never fail to delight me. I petted each beautiful face in turn. Then Big Mamma parted the crowd, coming to investigate. She waited a very polite 30 seconds for everyone to give way then she sped up the proceedings with flattened ears and a threat to bite. Everyone immediately gave her royal highness space front and center. I was allowed to pet her face and neck, but with no treats forthcoming, she summarily ended the audience. With her regal behind moving away, the more timid herd members came to the fence.
When all the horses, young and old, were satisfied there was nothing in it for them, they all moved back out of reach of the fence. I returned to my car - down a steep and slippery bank. By the time I was back in the car, these two little guys, most assuredly at the very bottom of the pecking order, had their turn at the fence. If only I had a carrot or an apple or a peppermint on hand! It would have been worth the climb back up the hill to pet these adorable creatures. Because I did not have anything to give them, I did not return to the fence, which was surely just as well. If their boss is as mean as Ginger, they might have been punished for getting a treat when she did not. They stayed close to the fence patiently watching, just in case, then they turned away, too. They looked so sad! I was sad, too.
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